


Ohana

by roxashighwind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pack Feels, new-werewolf!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxashighwind/pseuds/roxashighwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly minted werewolf Stiles confronts Scott and emotions abound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ohana

**Author's Note:**

> This came out of nowhere. I just got hit really hard with werewolf!Stiles feels and this came out.
> 
> If anyone has an idea for a better summary, feel free to let me know!

“Ohana means fuckin’ family, man.” Stiles shoves at Scott, uses all of his newfound strength to shove his best friend away from him. “Family fuckin’ means that no one gets left behind.” He punches blindly, vision going a dull red.

Scott doesn’t fight back, just deflects Stiles’ wild blows. “Calm the fuck down, Stiles. God, what has gotten into you, man?” He captures one of Stiles’ hands and makes a move to grab the other. “What’s going on?”

He’s confused, it’s clear on his face and for some reason that just pisses Stiles off even more. “Get the fuck off of me, dude!” Using flexibility he wasn’t aware he had, Stiles manages to land a solid, vicious kick to Scott’s ribs that gets Scott to let go of him so he can flail backward a few steps. The distance helps take the red edge off his rage.

Stiles breathes heavily, panting on every exhale. It’s hard for him to focus, flares of red trying to take over his world. Claws extend and retract, over and over again. It’s painful and actually does a bit to keep Stiles focused on the fact that it’s Scott in front of him and not someone that he should attack.

“Oh... oh god, Stiles! Are you..?” Scott actually stops himself before he can state the obvious, a small feat that normally would cause Stiles to applaud. He takes a testing smell in Stiles’ direction, to confirm what he already knows. “You’re... Fuck.” He groans and reaches out for his friend.

“Pretty much.” There’s a hint of a growl under the words, like Stiles can’t help it. Truthfully, he can’t, and he takes a quick step backward to avoid Scott touching him. There’s still a level of pissed off in the way his hands curl into fists at his sides, claws pricking the skin of his palms as they continue to come into and go out of being. He feels like a mess, and it takes almost all of his concentration to keep his shakes at bay.

“Stiles,” whispers Scott, worry lacing his words and scenting the air. He’s still reaching out, arm extended and a small frown tugging at his mouth. “Let me help you, dude.”

“Oh yeah, help me like you did when you freaking abandoned me to that bitch alpha.” Stiles’ voice cracks on a laugh. His eyes flash and everything flickers red-edged for a few long seconds.

Scott jerks back, hand falling to his side. “I didn’t! I swear I thought you were okay. Derek was nearby and you were holding your own and - Stiles, if I would have even thought that you were in trouble you know I would have grabbed you and hauled your ass out of there.”

Stiles continues to keep his distance, hands still loosely balled into fists. “Whatever. You were more worried about Allison than you were about me.”

“That’s not true! I thought you had it covered, that Derek would get you if you ran into trouble you couldn’t handle because he was right there and I needed to make sure that Isaac and - and yeah, Allison, whatever - got out okay, because Isaac got hit with something laced with wolfsbane and he wasn’t healing.” Scott runs a hand through his hair and barely resists the urge to grab Stiles and shake him.

“That’s a bullshit excuse.” Some of the rage leaks out of Stiles, fingers uncurling at his sides. “You can’t... We’re ohana, Scott.”

It’s a broken whisper, but Scott hears it loud and clear. It’s been almost a week since that disaster of a fight, and Scott and Stiles have barely seen each other - just caught glimpses of each other at school because their schedules haven’t lined up all year and Scott dropped lacrosse. Scott hadn’t noticed any changes in his friend in their brief interactions in the hallways at school, so he hadn’t thought anything was wrong. But now, looking back on it, Scott can tell that Stiles hasn’t been himself.

Apparently, what Stiles has been is a newly minted wolf on the verge of destroying everything around him. It makes Scott hurt inside to know that he fucked up hard that he didn’t even notice. He takes a deep breath and tries a different tactic.

“We are ohana, Stiles, and I’m really sorry that I’ve been a shitty brother to you this week. You can tell if I’m lying if you focus on my heart, okay. Do it and tell me if I’m lying about the fact that I would have saved you from that whacked out alpha if I knew you were alone. I would have been there as soon as I got Isaac taken care of.” His eyes are wide, honest.

Stiles groans, throws his hands up. “You’re not lying. Fine, whatever. Knock it off with the puppy eyes, okay?”

Scott can’t stop the breath of a laugh that escapes him. “Can’t help it, dude, it’s my face.” He takes a quick step toward Stiles before he can talk himself out of it, and grabs him into a hug. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there.” It’s a soft, desperate murmur against the side of Stiles’ head.

He fidgets in Scott’s hold but doesn’t pull completely away. “You smell gross.”

That starts Scott laughing until he can barely breathe with it. “You never noticed before.”

“I totally did, but I never said anything.” Stiles chuckles a bit awkwardly, not used to not being filled with rage after the last week that has been almost nothing but. It’s weird, suddenly feeling normal, and the rage ratchets back up into the blackout range. He shoves Scott away, the arm across his shoulders feeling like a threat.

Scott staggers, caught off guard, before regaining his footing. Stiles is halfway across the room before Scott is solidly on his feet again. He feels queasy when he sees Stiles’ eyes flash gold before he bolts out the door. For a second Scott thinks about chasing after him, even takes a few steps toward the door, but he hears Derek catch Stiles in the hall, and he’s starting to know better than to get in between an alpha and one of his betas. Something tells him that yeah, Derek is Stiles’ alpha, not that messed up one from the fight, and it makes him a little less uneasy at not being able to help Stiles the way he’d like.

\--

Derek’s eyes flare crimson, boring into Stiles’ flashing gold ones. His hand is against the back of Stiles’ neck, thumb against one side and fingertips curling against the other. “Breathe.”

It’s a short, simple command but it does its job. Stiles sucks in an open mouthed breath, and then another. His heart rate slows the longer Derek watches him, and he’s glad for it. Derek squeezes the back of Stiles’ neck, not enough to hurt but enough to reassure himself that Stiles won’t bolt or something.

“You cannot attack your pack, Stiles,” says Derek, voice low. His commanding gaze never breaks away, intent on Stiles’ reaction to his words. “He trusted me to take care of you, and I did.”

“You turned me.” Stiles continues to relax into the touch, heartbeat slowing to normal even as his eyes continue to bleed from brown to gold randomly.

Derek pretends to think about that for a second. “You consented.”

Stiles glares, a weak rumble of a growl in his chest. The uptick in his heartbeat has Derek squeezing the back of his neck again to make it slow down again. “I-”

“You consented.” A brief pause. “The circumstances weren’t the best, I’ll give you that.”

“But I still said the words,” he whispers in response, fight going out of him again. He seems to shrink a little, look younger than he has since Scott got turned, and without warning he’s pressing against Derek’s chest, arms going around him under his leather jacket. “I wanted it.” Stiles breathes out the words, barely a whisper but loud to Derek like shouting.

Derek barely surpresses a shiver at the way Stiles’ words brush against the skin of his throat. “I’ve got you.” He still has that one hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, and starts to knead the flesh under his hand. He lets Stiles take what he needs, does what he can to get his scent to eclipse all the unpleasant smells in the air in the empty warehouse.

He doesn’t let go of Derek for a long time. In fact, he does the opposite and moves closer, lifts his head enough to get his nose against the side of Derek’s neck and presses flush against him from shoulders to knees. His breathing steadies.

Derek knows when the rage starts to subside for real, the scent of it drifting off and giving way to the dull scent of exhaustion, tinged with the beginnings of contentment. He likes that smell, the way it starts to push the exhaustion smell into the background of the overall scent of him.

Derek lets his head rest against the side of Stiles’ and just holds him as he calms. They stay like that  for long minutes, their scents settling. Derek hears when Scott leaves without saying anything.

“We should probably go see the rest of the pack.” It’s an almost sleepy murmur from where Stiles still has his nose pressed against Derek’s neck. “I mean, that’s where Scott’s headed - to let everyone know that I’m okay.” He sounds resigned, like it’s not what he wants to have happen because he doesn’t think he’s okay.

“Or you can go spend some time with your dad.” He suggests it because he knows that the Sheriff is still getting used to the whole “werewolves are real” thing, and that it would help him and likely settle Stiles some more if he were to spend time with him.

Stiles shakes his head, nose rubbing against Derek’s neck. “No. Bad idea.” He can imagine the way Derek’s eyebrow raises in question. “I freaked out at Scott. I probably won’t be stable enough to around my Dad and all the stress he radiates.” His arms tighten around Derek, fingers stretching the back of his shirt as they tighten on it.

He gives an acknowledging hum that Stiles can feel where he’s resting his face against Derek’s neck. “To the pack it is.” Derek chuckles a little when Stiles sighs but allows Derek to move him around and push him lightly in the direction of the camaro.

\--

Erica, Boyd, and Isaac pile on him as soon as he enters the warehouse, as they’ve been doing all week since Stiles got turned. They rub themselves all over him, touch every bit of him they can reach and add the scent of “pack” to the scent of “alpha.” He smiles and touches them back, nuzzles Isaac’s curly hair and leans into Boyd’s solid frame and runs his fingers through Erica’s hair. Scott is there too, hanging out off to the side with Allison, and he’s glad she’s there with him to make Scott feel better.

Erica wraps her arms around Stiles’ waist and whispers in his ear, “Scott told us what happened. You’re allowed to be upset. Just know that we’re all ohana now, and that it’s only because he pulled Puppy out of there that he’s even alive.” She says it so easily, and Stiles believes her. “He wouldn’t have left you if he didn’t trust you and Derek to be okay.”

Isaac and Boyd nod in agreement, Stiles can feel it because they’re still surrounding him. He sighs and nods in turn. “Okay.” He wants to say more and they all know it, but there’s not really much he can say.

Derek disappears into the screened off area that is his bedroom and comes back with a leather jacket and a hoodie that absolutely reek of the alpha. With a pointed look at the three wrapped around Stiles, they step away.

“Aww, I liked the standing puppy pile.” Stiles fakes a pout but it fades quickly when Derek holds out the jackets. “Yeah?” he asks, grinning. He takes them, slides his arms into the hoodie and then the leather jacket over it. The hoodie is red, thin from wear, and the leather jacket is lighter than Stiles expected it to be. Derek’s scent wraps around him like a gloriously calming cocoon, and all he wants is to take a nap.

Derek rolls his eyes. “You were only supposed to put one of those on, save the other for when you start feeling the rage again and I’m not around.” There’s a hint of a smile in his voice that doesn’t show on his mouth, but plays around his eyes. “But I guess that works, too.”

Stiles grins and zips the hoodie, leaving the leather jacket undone. “This,” he asks as he plucks at the lapel of the leather jacket, “makes me Pack, right? Like, officially and everything?”

“You became Pack the moment you accepted Derek as alpha.” Boyd spoke up easily. “That and your want to be Pack, I mean.” He glances at Scott where he’s still off to the side with Allison. “Because whether Scott likes it or not, he’s Pack, too, by extension. And Allison, through him.”

Allison blinks at that. “But...”

“Just accept it, Hawkeye.” Erica grins at her. “You’re one of us, and if your dad keeps helping us, he’ll be one of us, too.”

Allison squeezes Scott’s hand and gives a small, hesitant smile. “Thanks?”

“Don’t mention it.” Erica’s grin falls to a more sincere smile, and she nudges Isaac with her foot. At her urging he goes to Allison and Scott and cuddles up with them, humming happily when they wrap around him in return. Erica nods, satisfied.

Derek watches Stiles watch the rest of the Pack. “No rage?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Not right now.” He smiles a little easier, though he can feel the sharp edge of his rage in the back of his mind. It will probably take him some time to get over it, but right now, surrounded by the Pack, he feels better.

“Good.” Derek pulls him close, bumps the sides of their heads together.

Ohana indeed.


End file.
